


(Almost Believing) This One's Not Pretend

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Mutual Pining, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been friends since they attended the same university some years ago. Bilbo decides one day to surprise Thorin by making the long flight over to spend the holidays with him. Unfortunately, Thorin's house is currently overrun with family who seem too interested in Thorin's (lack of) love life. Misunderstandings occur and suddenly Thorin and Bilbo are boyfriends - but not really.They've done crazier things before; surely pretending to be together will be a piece of cake. Right?





	1. Thorin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrealia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrealia/gifts).



> So uh... this may have gotten away from me a little. The trope is fun, though. I hope all of you, my giftee especially, enjoy!
> 
> I'd like to thank [alkjira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira) for being beta and also helper of plot, as always. And also I have [Jake](http://kaijuslayer.tumblr.com) to thank for helping decide what Bilbo works as. Without them this work would not be what it is now. I can thank the mods of HHH17 though, so: thank you guys for organising this event so well :)
> 
> Background relationships: Dís/Víli, all the permutations of familial relationships including Bilbo.  
> This is a modern Middle-Earth; everyone is still their respective races from the canon. I fudged a bit about the timeline re: Bilbo' and Thorin's age when they first met. In case it doesn't end up being clear, in university they were both a bit younger compared to canon Hobbit ages.

Thorin had been looking forward to a quiet Christmas.

 

He’d brought the tree out of the attic and had put it up before breakfast. He’d left it alone since then, and now was drinking the last remnants of his afternoon tea as he considered the decorations, wondering what theme to use this year. It was a close battle between blue-and-silver and red-and-gold. He put his mug on the bookcase, preparing for an eenie-meenie-miney, when the doorbell rang twice.

 

Within seconds his nephews were thumping their way up the stairs, his brother was criticising his choice of a fake tree, his brother-in-law was quietly collecting dirty crockery to wash, and his sister had decided to cling to his back like a koala. Turned out he’d forgotten it was his year to host the family celebration. Damn it.

 

Not that he didn’t love them, don’t get him wrong. The last time he’d seen her Dís had had one arm in a cast and had been going half mad with boredom, kept away from her paramedic work. Víli was usually quiet but he kept the peace in their hotheaded family, though not to say he couldn’t give as good as he got. Frerin had spent the past year backpacking across Haradwaith where he’d lost his phone halfway through and been incommunicado (thus increasing the number of grey hairs Thorin had). Fíli and Kíli had shot up since he’d seen them, though Kíli was still taller than his brother.

 

It was good to see them all and have them close, even if he’d mixed up his holiday plans. Víli had corralled his sons into fetching the presents from the car, and despite his snarky comments Frerin was already stringing the lights. Thorin was just about to prise Dís’ grip off so he could put her in a headlock when his phone rang.

 

When he saw the displayed name, his heart skipped. A lot.

 

“Bilbo?”

 

“Hullo Thorin! How are you?”

 

“I’m, uh, I’m good.” He swallowed, trying a bit harder to escape Dís. “What’s up?”

 

“I’m at the airport.”

 

“Oh that’s cool –” Thorin ignored his entire family mocking his use of that word, though on the upside Dís let go of him so she could imitate him, “– where are you headed?”

 

“Erebor!” The grin was clear in his voice, enough that one crept across Thorin’s face. “Can you believe it?”

 

“I – here? Really?”

 

“Yes! I hope you don’t mind, because you did mention that you’re holidaying alone this year. And I just thought, hey, I’ve holidayed alone for a long time, why not change things up and stay with an old friend? Maybe I should’ve told you sooner, given some forewarning, but consider this one of your presents from me.”

 

“Bilbo, I’d _love_ for you to stay over for Christmas,” Thorin said honestly, “only –”

 

But before he could explain that there would be others with them, a chime sounded on the other end. “Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed. “It’s time for boarding, the flight is Eagle Airlines number 13 from Hobbiton. I’ll see you once I land. Bye!”

 

Well… crap. On one hand, Bilbo was a close friend (perhaps he might have been more if Thorin had been braver in uni and had tried more than once to make a move) and the notion of seeing him in half a day was as exciting as it’d been a surprise. But on the other hand –

 

“Who was _that_?” Frerin asked gleefully, hands on his hips as he stared at Thorin.

 

In fact, everyone was staring at Thorin, tree decorating obviously put on hold. They were all wearing some form of a smirk except for Víli, who was far more polite and merely looked amused. This wasn’t going to go well.

 

“Is that the same Bilbo who was in uni with you?” Dís didn’t wait for an answer. “I suppose it has to be, it’s not that common a name. That’s so _lovely_ , Thorin.”

 

He squinted at her, phone still in hand. “What’s lovely?”

 

“That you’re dating your mate from university, of course. And he’s coming here for Christmas!” She punched Thorin’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us that earlier? Where’s he flying in from, the Shire?”

 

“Yeah, Hobbiton. And I didn’t tell you because he’s only told me today. And –” _we’re not dating_ , Thorin wanted to say, but was talked over.

 

“Oof, that’ll be a long trip,” Víli said. “If he’s leaving soon, he’ll arrive early tomorrow morning.”

 

“And so obviously we must accompany you, right sister?” Frerin asked, laughing when Dís smacked her palm against his outstretched one in a high five. “Yes! Finally we get to meet the Hobbit that makes our brother smile so sweetly.”

 

This was not going to end well.

 

Fíli nudged Kíli. “Does this mean we get an extra set of presents?”

 

Thorin sighed.

 

* * *

 

Given that Erebor was a busy trade hub all year round, the airport was still busy despite it being half past six in the morning. Even so, it was not hard for Thorin to pick out Bilbo since he was one of the few Hobbits crossing into Arrivals, and one he’d known for years.

 

(His annoyingly bright eyed and bushy tailed siblings were very helpful of course, pointing out every single barefoot person ever since they’d reached the airport.)

 

Bilbo’s smile was a little subdued when they caught sight of each other but Thorin put that down to flying from Hobbiton to Dale, then Dale to Erebor. As Bilbo approached with one of the smaller trolleys, the slump of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes were more apparent. Now his smile was brighter, though, like sunlight on mithril. “Hi.”

 

Before he could chicken out, Thorin stepped forward and engulfed Bilbo in a hug, hoping that his friend wouldn’t jump away and demand an explanation – or worse, turn around and jump right back onto the plane. Luckily this did not happen. He felt Bilbo’s arms come up around him and selfishly enjoyed the embrace before he potentially ruined their friendship forever. Conscious of his brother and sister standing close by, Thorin put his mouth close to one pointed ear and whispered, “Bilbo?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“I have a huge favour to ask, and you don’t have to agree I’ll understand if you don’t, but my family is staying over for Christmas as well. That’s not the favour.” He swallowed. “Will you please pretend to be… my boyfriend?” Thorin didn’t wait for an answer, though it was promising that Bilbo didn’t tense in his arms, forging ahead with, “I know it sounds crazy, and I can’t apologise enough, because my family was there when you called before your flight and they just assumed… and I know I should’ve said something but I just...” _found the idea too nice not to protest too hard_ “I just kind of froze. And now we’re both in this mess but I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Right, maybe he ought to let Bilbo process this information instead of babbling. Thorin braced himself for the worst and waited.

 

And waited.

 

“Bilbo?”

 

The reply was a tiny snore.

 

Thorin blinked a bit before pulling back, but not too far because he realised Bilbo was leaning against him and quite clearly asleep. Oh. Well. Shit.

 

“Is that really how you greet your boyfriend after he’s travelled halfway across the world?” Frerin demanded, poking Thorin’s shoulder.

 

Dís came around Thorin’s other side. “You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of _us_ , Thorin, we – is he okay?”

 

“He’s… sleeping?”

 

She didn’t look convinced. “Sleeping? Are you sure you didn’t smother him with that hug?” Dís then reached out and actually checked Bilbo’s pulse, which Thorin found quite unnecessary. “No, you’re right, he’s still alive.”

 

“You’re hilarious,” Thorin muttered, before shaking Bilbo gently. “Bilbo? You alright?” It took a while to decipher Bilbo’s half-awake mutterings, but the gist of it was that he’d not slept a wink on the flights. Thorin related this to his siblings and with an inward shrug, swept Bilbo up and into his arms. He ruthlessly tamped down the singing, soaring feeling of _rightness_ at this, because he was in public for heaven’s sake and anyway this Hobbit was not his. He was merely getting Bilbo to the car in the most expedient way.

 

Dís had already taken charge of the trolley and Frerin was digging through his pockets for the parking ticket. Thorin sent a smile their way – they were capable of being thoughtful and endearing, though they oft preferred to gang up on him, as was their prerogative as siblings – and they set off for the car.

 

Most people ignored the odd sight they must have made, since it _was_ six in the morning, but Thorin still hoped none of the security guards would think three Dwarves had decided to knock out and kidnap a helpless Hobbit. On the other hand, if Thorin had to spend the next month in prison at least he’d not run the risk of losing Bilbo by asking him to make-believe they were dating.

 

And, hey, if Bilbo did end up agreeing to this farce then he’d just talk Thorin’s way out of prison. He’d done it before, after all.


	2. Bilbo

When Bilbo woke up, it was immediately apparent that he was no longer on the plane. This wasn’t because he realised that he was supine and comfortable, without a safety belt around him or a useless flat pillow behind his head – his head was still a little muddled and had just assumed that tiredness had painted a more cosy arrangement. However, having a Dwarf practically looming over him snapped him out of that conclusion immediately.

 

“You’re going to give me a heart attack one day,” he grumbled, using one hand to push himself up and the other to rub at his eye.

 

“Sorry,” Thorin said, actually sounding remorseful. “I just needed to catch you before anyone else does.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Heh. Catch you.”

 

“I am not a Pokemon,” Bilbo replied primly. Then, “Wait, what do you mean ‘anyone else’?”

 

A deep sigh. “I… I honestly forgot that my family is staying over for Christmas. They arrived just moments before you called me, in fact.”

 

“Oh.” He vaguely remembered meeting Dís and Frerin decades ago – ‘met’ meaning ‘glanced at through a car window that one time’ – but given how much Thorin mentioned them, he felt like they were _his_ siblings. He certainly wasn’t averse to getting to know them first-hand. “That’s fine, though, Thorin. I’m hardly going to complain about making more friends.”

 

This seemed the wrong thing to say, because Thorin seemed more uncomfortable. “That’s not all you’ll be doing.”

 

Bilbo arched an eyebrow. “You haven’t promised my hand to one of your siblings, have you?”

 

“Not… exactly.”

 

“Thorin. That was chosen as a ridiculous example that you were supposed to laugh off. Instead it looks like you want to crawl under the bed.” He crossed his arms over his chest, willing away the exhaustion that still lingered in the corners of his consciousness. “Spit it out, whatever it is, so I can decide whether to be angry with you or not.”

 

Wincing, Thorin appeared to be gathering his courage, before he finally said, “My family assumes we’re dating.”

 

“Ah.” Bilbo hoped his voice was steady. “And where’d they get that idea from?”

 

“Well, you did call because you wanted to surprise me by flying all the way from the West so you could spend Christmas with me –”

 

“Are you saying this is _my_ fault?”

 

“No! Not at all!”

 

Well. At least he could be sensible.

 

“My brother and sister just assumed there was no other explanation behind you making that much effort unless we were dating. I was so shocked that by the time I could think to set them right it was too late.”

 

Scratch that bit about being sensible. Bilbo sighed. “You know, sometimes I wonder how you were able to get into so much trouble in uni, but every so often you remind me that you can be a complete moron.”

 

Thorin shrunk in on himself. “Sorry.”

 

He looked absolutely miserable, and Bilbo couldn’t help but unbend a little. “So the reason you’ve been in here waiting for me to wake up is so you can ask me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

 

“Technically I asked at Arrivals, but you fell asleep.”

 

Bilbo blinked. He could remember getting off the plane, muzzily answering questions from the immigration officer, and collecting his bags. He also remembered perking up slightly when he caught sight of familiar pale eyes and dark hair. Then there was a hug and… waking up here?

 

He blushed. “You carried me?”

 

Thorin nodded. “Wasn’t a problem. You’re as light as I remember.”

 

Ah, yes. Whenever Bilbo drank too much he couldn’t count on his feet – which, as a Hobbit, was galling – and Thorin inevitably had to help him back to his apartment. Thorin usually kept to a strict limit when he drank, except for that one time at Thranduil’s party when – er, never mind, the less said about that particular night the better.

 

Back in the present, Bilbo waved away his embarrassment at basically passing out in Thorin’s arms. He was unused to air travel, and had been unable to rest on either of his two flights. He was still tired, but right now he needed to deal with the ridiculous situation he and Thorin were now in.

 

“Thorin, why can’t you just tell them the truth?”

 

“Because it’s a bit too late now?”

 

“Yeah but… they’re your family. They love you. You could probably play it off as a joke.”

 

“I don’t know about that. It’s just that… they seem so happy that I’ve found someone, and that it’s you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down. “I don’t want to ruin Christmas for everyone. You’re my best friend, Bilbo, can’t you just...” Thorin sighed. “No, you’re right, I’m being stupid. I’ll let them know now and you can keep the room, I’ll go sleep on the couch or –”

 

“Wait, what about the couch?”

 

“With everyone in the house there isn’t a spare guest room for you. And Dís and Frerin sort of assumed you’d be sleeping with me since they think we’re…” He winced again. “Since I got us into this mess I’ll just sleep downstairs.”

 

Oh. He hadn’t realised this was Thorin’s room. Bilbo tended to expect other people to be like him when it came to the messy order of his own home. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table which declared the date as the fourth of December. Then he looked back at Thorin, still staring at his lap and looking utterly wretched. Damn it.

 

“It’ll only be until New Years, yeah?”

 

Thorin’s blue eyes snapped up to his hazel ones. “Wh – you mean, you’ll do it?”

 

Bilbo smiled. “I can’t leave my best friend to sleep on the couch for a whole month, can I?”

 

* * *

 

He’d escaped to the bathroom, armed with his toiletry bag and a borrowed towel. Since Thorin had mentioned lunch being served soon – and since Bilbo’s stomach was quite interested in that announcement – he forewent a shower and just went to wash the grimy feeling off his face.

 

Then, with water dripping down his chin and neck, he took a long look at himself in the mirror.

 

What the _fuck_ did he think he was doing? Fake dating Thorin for a month – while it was true that he and Thorin had been involved in a lot of nonsense in their youth, this was a new level of ridiculousness. And, yes, that included the time with Professor Beorn and the bear. This was a bad, bad idea and not least because of his feelings.

 

Bilbo sighed and wiped his face. His crush on Thorin had never completely gone away, and now it was here to bite him in the arse. Acting lovey dovey in front of Thorin’s family, oh yes, that all sounded brilliant – not least of all because it wouldn’t be acting on his part. He’d have to work hard not to slip up and risk one of his dearest friendships.

 

Bad enough he’d gone and made a fool of himself by swooning into Thorin’s arms. After 16 hours of travel anyone would’ve been tired, yes, and that hug had been unfairly wonderful. Thorin had just been so warm, and his arms felt so strong, and he smelled so good. Bilbo’s treacherous brain had just gone “SAFE!” and shut down.

 

Luckily Thorin seemed to think nothing of it. It was difficult to faze him, though, and the fact that he’d been so torn up about a misunderstanding had been a big factor in Bilbo’s decision to agree. It shouldn’t have been so surprising, Bilbo knew how important family was to Thorin. He obviously didn’t want to cast a pall over their Christmas by outing a lie. And pretending to be dating was relatively harmless when it came to favours someone could potentially ask for.

 

He grimaced at his reflection. _You’re my best friend, Bilbo_. He hadn’t really needed the reminder that Thorin saw their relationship as nothing more than platonic. He’d come to terms with that years ago but it still hurt. Now he’d have what he wanted most in the world dangling in front of his nose, only it wouldn’t be real and had a deadline to boot.

 

“Bilbo?” Thorin knocked twice on the door. “Are you done? Only I thought we might iron out some details in case anyone asks questions.”

 

“I’ll be out in just a minute,” Bilbo called back, and quickly finger combed his curls so they settled properly against his scalp. He did a last once-over and squared his shoulders. It was just a month. This was just in front of Thorin’s family. This was for Thorin. He could do this. He would do this.

 

He’d just need to remind himself to never get too comfortable with the lie.


	3. Thorin

“So Bilbo, what do you do?” Dís asked as she passed him the bowl of dhal. “I’m afraid Thorin hasn’t told us much about you, not even where you work.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes but kept to his lunch, refraining from pointing out the interrogation he’d been barraged with yesterday.

 

“Oh, well, that might be because I don’t work?” Despite the fact that this’d been true for some years now, Bilbo still looked uncomfortable with the admission. Maybe because it was always met with shock and confusion.

 

Frerin leaned forward. “I thought the both of you did the same thing?”

 

“Well… similar in that they were both history.” He was using his spoon and fork to tear his naan, which Thorin found endearingly strange. “I went straight into teaching at Hobbiton University. It didn’t take long after that to realise that teaching people other than my nephew just... didn’t work for me.”

 

Thorin snorted. “Told you you took the wrong course.”

 

“Not everyone gets to swing battle axes around menacingly and call that a class.”

 

“Gets me a better percentage of completed assignments than my colleagues, though,” he said smugly, reaching for the chickpeas.

 

“Yes, you’re a big scary Dwarf, dear, and inspiration to us all,” Bilbo replied dryly.

 

Thorin immediately hid his face in his mug of water, since his cheeks had gone hot. Though his skin was as dark as Dis’ and Frerin’s, the two of them had an unerring ability to know when he was blushing, which he was now. He thought he’d come to terms with this whole faked relationship, but he obviously hadn’t taken into account the casual way Bilbo could throw in a pet name – or even the fact that pet names would even come into play – and how this would affect him. He felt _giddy_ , like he was back to being in primary school and was holding someone’s hand for the first time.

 

(Or like he was back in university with a smart-mouthed Hobbit and had finally been brave enough to kiss him for the first time.)

 

“You okay, Uncle?” Fíli asked, innocently enough.

 

Thorin coughed a bit. “Accidentally bit into a chilli, is all.” Luckily his siblings were more interested in Bilbo to bother him.

 

“So you travel, then?”

 

“Not too much. This is the farthest I’ve ever been from home; yesterday was the first time I’d ever been in a plane.” He shrugged. “I just thought it was about time to visit Thorin’s home, since he’s shared so many stories about it already.”

 

“That’s very brave of you,” Víli said, smiling, “to have your first ever flight be one of the longest in Middle-Earth.”

 

“I just prefer to have my feet on the ground, is all.” Feet that didn’t quite reach the floor, even with Dwarf-made furniture. “But to answer your original question, I write.”

 

“Ooh, you’re a writer?” Frerin seemed to have perked up (he’d deflated a bit when Bilbo had admitted to rarely travelling, which was not the case when it came to Frerin). “What books have you written?”

 

Thorin tried not to smirk, he really did, but must not have been very successful as he soon felt the bony part of Bilbo’s elbow dig into his side.

 

“I haven’t published anything, actually. I’ve got bits and pieces done, but not the whole thing. Not from lack of time, mind you, since I have that in spades. I’m just lucky that I’m able to support myself all the same.”

 

“Does that mean you’re rich?” Kíli asked interestedly, not chastised in the slightest when his parents _tch_ -ed and glared. “What? It’s just a question. Not like I demanded he empty his fucking wallet, right?”

 

Fíli smacked his forehead, seemingly in dismay, though snorts of laughter still came from his corner of the table.

 

Dís didn’t find the situation as funny. “I thought you’d learned to behave better when you’re in the company of a guest.”

 

“You said yesterday that since Mr Bilbo is Uncle’s boyfriend he’s family, and we’ve always swore in front of family without being punished for it.”

 

“We were too punished,” Fíli pointed out, “you just don’t remember.”

 

Víli nodded serenely. “It seems the punishments need to get harsher, my love,” he said to Dís, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Don’t you think?”

 

“Hey! We’re almost adults,” Kíli argued, “I think we should be able to swear whenever we want. Right Fíli?”

 

“You’re on your own, bruh.”

 

“Oh you f – you bloody traitor!”

 

Thorin glanced over at Bilbo as this absurdity unfolded. Bilbo looked like he was spectating a tennis match – albeit one that involved four people on three sides – and accordingly his expression was one of bemused amusement. Underneath that however, visible to those who knew Bilbo well, was a lingering discomfort at Kíli’s question.

 

He knew that Bilbo was well to do; his family was old money in the Shire. Although he’d never flaunted his wealth or made snide comments about Thorin’s scholarship, he’d just had a fundamental lack of understanding of how growing up in poverty had affected Thorin’s life. Things like purchasing cheap, processed supermarket food in bulk as opposed to only eating organic food from the health shop. Or like bundling up when indoors during winter, instead of turning up the heating until the room felt like a rainforest. Or maybe like staying up to study but still making it for 8am classes because he _needed_ the scholarship, rather than turning up whenever he felt like it since he’d already paid the entirety of the tuition.

 

It helped that Bilbo was good hearted (though capable of being vindictive when the situation called for it) and willing to learn. He’d educated himself on privilege, how he benefited from it, and how he could use it to help others. He didn’t shy away from mistakes either, instead using them as lessons. Thorin was proud to have witnessed this character growth.

 

He carefully nudged Bilbo. “You okay? Kíli didn’t mean anything by it.”

 

“It’s fine.” Bilbo kept his voice as low as Thorin’s so they wouldn’t interrupt the semi-argument in front of them. He shook his head a little. “Bit of a first world problem, though, being uncomfortable when someone points out you’ve got money.”

 

“You just don’t want to flaunt what you’ve got.” Thorin waggled his eyebrows.

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes at this terrible double entendre, but he wore a tiny smile as he turned back to his food. Thorin counted that as a victory.

 

“Hey! If I can’t swear at the table then Thorin shouldn’t be able to talk about dicks!”

 

This time when Thorin choked and accidentally bit into a chilli it was for real.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day went by more smoothly. Bilbo had excused himself soon after dinner to have a shower; Thorin guessed that he’d be in there a while, to wash off those many hours of air travel. He definitely wasn’t thinking of Bilbo _in_ the shower. Nope. Not at all. Just to prove it, he settled into his favourite chair with _An Unexpected Journey_ , fully intending on finishing it tonight.

 

It was just as well that he’d read the book before, because he was flipping pages without actually reading anything. There wasn’t actually a slideshow going on in his head of a bathing Bilbo because a) he didn’t have any images to supply it as Bilbo’s fussiness meant Thorin hadn’t even seen him shirtless once in the time they’d known each other and b) he was mentally shouting that he had no right to take advantage even in his own head.

 

_I can’t leave my best friend to sleep on the couch for a whole month, can I?_

 

Bilbo couldn’t have made himself more clear if he’d tried. He’d agreed to be Thorin’s boyfriend, but definitely not for real. He was just doing it out of a sense of duty towards their friendship. Thorin didn’t know how to repay him yet, but impure thoughts about the Hobbit definitely wasn’t the way to go.

 

Dís perched on the arm of his chair. Thorin frowned at this, though only for show, inwardly grateful that she’d disrupted his thoughts. “I thought you were going to play cards with the lads.”

 

She shook her head. “Their game has a maximum of four, and Frerin and Víli were more interested than me. I came here to make sure you didn’t set this book on fire with your glowering.”

 

“This is my normal face,” he said, not changing his expression.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Is that all you came here for? Because I want to finish –”

 

“Thorin, did you argue with Bilbo?”

 

“No? Why would you even think –”

 

“Then have we made things difficult for you two?”

 

Thorin’s heart sank. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well you seem awkward together. Like… a bit too careful about how you interact. And he did come here to surprise you, not be surprised by your family instead.”

 

He winced. “I’m sorry I forgot you guys were visiting –”

 

Dís waved away his apology. “You know I was serious at the airport, right? You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of us. We’re family, Bilbo included. Please tell him that.”

 

“I – okay.” Thorin waited a beat before standing. “I should get to bed.”

 

“It’s a bit early. You don’t usually go to sleep until past midnight.”

 

“We did get up before six today.” When she still looked unconvinced, he blurted, “I need to make sure Bilbo’s all settled. As well as tell him what you told me.”

 

“Ohh, I get it.” She grinned up at him. “You’re going to have sex.”

 

“Dís!” Thorin was pretty sure his blush could be seen from space. He glanced quickly at the rest of their family, but luckily they were too far and/or too engrossed in their game.

 

“Hey, we’re all adults here. My idiot sons excluded.”

 

“I’m not going up to – we’re not going to do _that_!”

 

“Oh, grow up, Thorin. It’s not like I’m giving you tips –”

 

He threw out a garbled goodnight – to which there were distracted replies from everyone but Dís, who was laughing – and all but ran up the stairs. There were some things he didn’t need to deal with and his sister talking about such things was top of that list. He shuddered.


	4. Bilbo

It was about eight at night in Erebor’s time zone, and he had put away his clothes, had taken a thorough bath, and otherwise readied himself for bed. The only problem was that his passing out earlier in the day combined with jet lag made for a very unsleepy Hobbit. Despite being weary right down to his bones, Bilbo’s internal clock couldn’t get past the whole bedtime-despite-being-afternoon-in-the-Shire. Not yet anyway. As he was pondering going downstairs again, Thorin knocked and entered.

 

Best friend or no, Bilbo considered it very rude when Thorin took one look at his clothes and started laughing.

 

“What exactly,” he asked, “is the problem?”

 

“That!”

 

“What?” He looked down at what Thorin was pointing at. “My pyjamas?”

 

“ _Paisley_ pyjamas. That _match_.”

 

“Would you prefer my top be pinstriped?” He had packed a pair with that pattern, a nice yellow-on-white, but this probably wasn’t the time to point it out. Bilbo raised his eyebrow. “Or would you prefer I wear nothing at all?”

 

This was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Thorin’s smile immediately dropped and his skin flushed darker. “I – no, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just that I...”

 

Realisation dawned. “Oh gods, don’t tell me _you_ sleep in the nude?”

 

“Well… yes.” Thorin still looked uncomfortable. “Not that I will while you’re here, obviously, I’m not stupid. I’ll just sleep on top of the covers.”

 

Bilbo snorted. “This isn’t a terrible romantic comedy, Thorin, you can spare the inflated concern over my virtue.”

 

“I just meant that it’d be cooler for me.” He smirked. “Given all I know and have heard about Hobbits, your virtue was lost a long time ago.”

 

“You’re hilarious. But fine, over the covers will work so long as your siblings don’t make a habit of barging into your bedroom unannounced.” Bilbo didn’t think they did but they could probably come up with a believable excuse; Thorin falling asleep on the covers and Bilbo being unable to encourage him under them, for one.

 

“On a semi-related note,” Thorin said, growing serious, “Dís thinks we’ve had a row.”

 

“How come?”

 

“She said we were being too stiff with each other.”

 

Bilbo was in his fifties, he wasn’t going to snicker, no matter how funny dick jokes were. It helped that alongside the humour was a pang of unhappiness that he and Thorin wouldn’t ever go past friendship to _be_ ‘stiff’ with each other. “We can explain that away with jet lag.”

 

“That’s smart.” Thorin nodded. “But I do want to ask how far you are willing to go –”

 

_Don’t say ‘all the way’, don’t fucking say it –_

 

“– I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“Well, how about we just act like we normally do, Thorin? I think your sister’s concerns are because we’re too aware of having to fool them.” He reached out and touched the Dwarf’s elbow. “I’ve never second guessed myself when I touch you for any reason, and I don’t think you’ve done so either. Why does acting like we’re dating have to be different to acting like we’re friends? I know I’d only want to be with someone who is my friend as well.”

 

Thorin’s expression was soft and fond. “That is very wise of you.”

 

He shrugged. “Merely the truth. But do you agree?”

 

“I do, yes. Loving someone as a friend should preclude loving them as something more.” He shook his head slightly. “We do not normally hold hands, though. Would that be allowed?”

 

“Yes.” It seemed harmless enough. And Bilbo would be able to enjoy Thorin’s big hand practically engulfing his own. “Hugs and arms around shoulders should be fine as well.”

 

A nod. He worried his bottom lip with one canine before asking, haltingly, “What about kissing?”

 

Bilbo didn’t snatch his hand away even though all he wanted to do was shut himself in the bathroom. He and Thorin had kissed before, years ago, not that Thorin remembered. Bilbo did, though. Those thin lips and that bristly beard still haunted his thoughts from time to time, and he suddenly realised that this fake relationship thing would enable him to rekindle those memories.

 

But that would be unfair and selfish, wouldn’t it? To take what was innocently offered just so he could fulfil his desires?

 

“We could do chaste,” he said finally, hoping his pause hadn’t been too long. “No need to make out in public.” All the making out would happen in the privacy of his own head. Having an imagination like his did come in extremely handy at times.

 

“As you wish.”

 

Bilbo patted his arm, then pulled his hand back.

 

“Which, uh, which side of the bed would you prefer? I usually just sleep wherever.”

 

“So do I,” he replied, snorting a bit. It was weird that they’d never shared a bed before this, considering all their shenanigans, but then again in uni Thorin had lived on campus and Bilbo had rented a nearby apartment. “But I’ll take the right side.”

 

“Cool.” His smile was tight. “I’ll just get ready for bed. You sleepy?”

 

“Not particularly, to be honest.”

 

“Well it’s best you try so you can get used to the time zone as soon as possible.” At Bilbo’s doubtful look, Thorin laughed. “I can lend you some old textbooks if you need help sleeping.”

 

“I appreciate the offer. But you don’t have to keep me company, you know, I can entertain myself. Counting sheep, destroying sweets on my phone, that sort of thing. It’s a little concerning to see you going to bed so early.”

 

“Dís said much the same.”

 

Noting the frown on Thorin’s face, Bilbo asked, “Did your sister say anything more?”, referring to the ‘have you rowed’ thing rather than the ‘sleeping early’ thing. It was a mistake though, because Thorin immediately stiffened. (Ahaha, no.)

 

“Nothing relevant,” he blurted, quickly making his retreat into the bathroom, almost slamming the door behind him.

 

Bilbo blinked at the empty space that Thorin had earlier occupied. Had he said something wrong?

 

* * *

 

Right. Bilbo took back every positive thought he’d had about his imagination.

 

Lying in a bed that smelled like Thorin, with the warmth and weight of the Dwarf behind him, and thoughts of his always being naked under these covers… they made for a very bad combination. Or very good, depending on how you looked at things, but considering the subject of his thoughts was snoring lightly beside him Bilbo would rather his thoughts focus on something else.

 

The only consolation was that he was old enough that just imagining an unclothed Thorin wasn’t enough to have his cock at attention. Not that the temptation wasn’t there, mind you, but Bilbo had better self control than that.

 

He sighed, shifting in bed. His eyes were gritty but not heavy and his head was starting to hurt. It was still better to concentrate on that rather than wonder if Thorin had added to his tattoos. He could remember meeting up with him that one time, being given the address and walking into the tattoo parlour to see Thorin in a longsleeved shirt and pants, with shiny new ink around one thigh and a pair of loose trousers in his hand. The tattoo artist had been taking photos, thus giving Bilbo the opportunity to stare at Thorin’s arse for a good few minutes.

 

Back in the present Bilbo quietly thwapped himself in the head. This was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about.

 

It had to be said, though, from what Bilbo had seen Thorin’s arse was still pretty fantastic. And maybe he shouldn’t have been looking, but as long as he didn’t act on it, a little ogling was okay surely? He still had a month left of pretending to be more than a friend to Thorin, which would involve touches and hugs and possibly even kisses – it would put his poor heart through the wringer, so in compensation his eyes should be allowed to look their fill.

 

Bilbo closed them now, rubbing his chest to soothe the ache there. Just what had he gotten himself into this time?

 

* * *

 

Sometime into the washing and drying of the breakfast dishes, a thought suddenly struck Bilbo.

 

“Oh _no_.”

 

The soapy plate in Thorin’s hands slipped and he grabbed at it just in time to stop it clattering on top of the other crockery. “What? What ‘oh no’?”

 

“I haven’t got gifts for everyone.”

 

“What? No, that’s okay Bilbo, you don’t have –”

 

Bilbo looked at Thorin as if he’d grown a second head. “I _must_. In case you’ve forgotten, Thorin Oakenshield, I am a Hobbit and Hobbits cannot go through Christmas without having at least one gift for everyone. What do you take me for?”

 

He put up sudsy hands in apparent surrender. “Fine, fine. The lads will be very happy, if nothing else.”

 

Bilbo sniffed. “ _Everyone_ will be happy with my gifts. We’ll go shopping after we’re done here.”

 

“Why do _I_ have to go? I did all my shopping in August.”

 

Of course he did; Thorin was nothing if not efficient. “Even one for me?”

 

“Yes. You’re lucky I hadn’t posted it to the Shire before you called.”

 

He couldn’t help but smile. “All the same I need you to give me suggestions, I’ve only known everyone for a day. And it’s not like I know where to buy gifts around here.”

 

“Ugh. Fine.” Thorin continued with the washing, grumbling not-quite-under-his-breath about traffic and snow and crowds and ill-prepared Hobbits.

 

Bilbo decided to take the higher ground and serenely dried the dishes that were handed to him. When everything was done he threw the damp cloth at Thorin’s face – where it made a satisfyingly wet _thwap_ – dodging Frerin as he quickly made his exit upstairs, laughing all the way.

 

* * *

 

“I suspect you’ve gone a tad overboard,” Thorin commented hours and much walking later. He was carrying the bulk of Bilbo’s purchases because he’d volunteered to do so and Bilbo believed in using the resources offered to him. “There might not be place under my tree.”

 

“Oh, wow, that’s _such_ a problem.” Bilbo rolled his eyes. “We’re all going to have to sleep outside in tents lest your house explode because it’s packed to the brim.”

 

“Alright, no need to be so sarcastic.”

 

“You started it.”

 

Hands full, Thorin nudged his hip against Bilbo’s side. Bilbo retaliated by punching Thorin in the arm, but by the way the Dwarf just laughed, this seemed not to inflict any damage. Instead Bilbo was treated to a flash of even white teeth and the crinkle of Thorin’s eyes as he chuckled. He was just so handsome – Bilbo hadn’t missed the admiring stares of passers-by – but Bilbo loved best that he was a complete dork and seemingly unaware of his own attractiveness.

 

He did also love that Thorin was attractive, though, don’t get him wrong. Thorin ticked off lots of Bilbo’s preferences: excellent nose, generous chest hair, the aforementioned fantastic arse. He was also tall and broad, so the jacket he’d lent Bilbo did not fit. Bilbo wasn’t sure what it was made of besides being waterproof and having a fur collar but he knew it wasn’t a style of jacket that suited him, not least because it was about three sizes too big. The warmth and the lingering scent of Thorin more than made up for the tickliness at the back of his neck and the sleeves going past his fingers.

 

“So how _is_ the book coming?”

 

“Pretty well. You know how I was stuck at the bit where everyone’s in trees with no chance of escape?”

 

“Your literal cliffhanger where everything’s on fire? Yeah, I remember being at the edge of my seat when I was waiting for your email.”

 

Fondness warmed Bilbo’s heart. “I figured out how to get them out.”

 

“Well don’t leave me in suspense again.” Thorin balanced the bags on the car boot and started rummaging his pockets for his key. “How will the Company escape?”

 

“Eagles.” His grin stretched wide across his face.

 

Thorin held up his key and the car went _bip-bip_ , followed closely by the click of the unlocking mechanism. He looked intrigued and slightly aggravated. “Eagles?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Bilbo waited for Thorin to put his bags into the car before doing so himself, neatly slotting them into the free spaces left. “Giant fucking eagles carry them off and to safety.” He considered saying ‘relative safety’, but spoilers.

 

“Only you would think of that solution.” Going by the way Thorin was smiling as he said this, he probably meant it as a compliment. This was confirmed when he added, “I’d never be able to come up with that. But your imagination is why you’re a good writer.”

 

“Flatterer. Do you want to know what happens after that?”

 

Thorin started the car. “Go on, then.”


	5. Thorin

“I,” Thorin said, “am going to kill you.”

 

Kíli, instead of being cowed by this announcement in any way, cackled at him. “You’re gonna have to catch us first!”

 

Distracted from brushing snow from his hair, Thorin furrowed his brow further. “What do you mean ‘us’?” he asked, which in retrospect was a stupid question that almost deserved the second snowball to the face.

 

“Hah! Too slow, Uncle!”

 

Despite having years and years of experience over Fíli and Kíli combined, being ganged up on meant Thorin was on the defensive most of the time. If he didn’t know the terrain of his own home better than his nephews then he might have been forced to concede the fight. He wasn’t prepared to do that, however, stashing some snowballs in the space between the shed and the side of the house where Kíli couldn’t quite reach.

 

He managed to sneak up on Fíli and shove snow down the back of his jumper but was pelted by Kíli for his trouble. He dimly heard the front door open as he fended off what felt like ice-covered snowballs.

 

“Two against one? I’d give up if I were you, Thorin.”

 

He glared at Bilbo, who was mildly sipping from a steaming mug. “Or you could help!”

 

“I’m staying out of this,” Bilbo said, after snorting inelegantly. “They’re teenagers and they’re going to kick your –”

 

It was likely dumb luck that the mug didn’t go flying through the air, though quite a bit of Bilbo’s coffee sloshed onto the front mat. The snow that’d displaced the aforementioned coffee had likely melted, thus ruining the drink, so while it wasn’t a surprise when Bilbo poured it out onto the ground, Thorin _was_ taken aback by how threatening he looked. Then again, he was aware of Bilbo’s skills.

 

Fíli and Kíli, laughing and high-fiving that they’d gotten their ‘new uncle’, were not.

 

Thorin supposed they were assuaged by Bilbo’s relative distance and apparent mellowness. However, between one blink and the next they were suddenly retreating as Bilbo pelted them with speed and accuracy. Thorin just watched, amazed and amused and impressed in equal measure. His nephews cried foul and ran away to the side of the house to get some cover.

 

Bilbo let his last snowball fall, the snow crunching under his house slippers. Thorin continued packing snowballs of his own since he knew Fíli and Kíli; their lack of expressly stated surrender meant they hadn’t given up just yet.

 

“My hands are freezing.”

 

“I’d help out with that but these snowballs won’t make themselves.” Thorin had the advantage of wearing mittens so at least his own hands were not as cold as Bilbo’s. “You can probably duck back inside, I’m sure I can finish them off.”

 

“I’ll see this through,” Bilbo said, grimly enough that Thorin knew he was serious. “I’d just gotten the coffee perfect.”

 

“What was the secret?” he asked distractedly.

 

“Oh, it’s a dash of – look out!”

 

Thanks to Bilbo shoving him to the side, the shower of snow that’d been aimed at him missed by a hair’s breadth. Thorin looked towards his nephews, gaping a little as he saw how Fíli was perched on Kíli’s shoulders. They’d obviously found his earlier-stowed stash; it was now cradled against Fíli’s chest as Kíli held his legs securely.

 

“Uh-oh,” Bilbo said, deadpan.

 

Merely annoyed, his own reaction was: “I made those for myself!”

 

“Finders keepers, losers weepers,” Kíli sing-songed, planting his feet in the snow.

 

Thorin tensed, prepared to throw himself in front of Bilbo and shield him for the onslaught – but it never came. He was confused for the moment it took him to catch the sly smiles that immediately had him on high alert.

 

“We issue a challenge,” Fíli announced, casually tossing one snowball up and snatching it out of the air. “A fair fight, two-on-two, to decide the ultimate winner.”

 

“And what’s the catch?” asked Bilbo.

 

“No catch.” Kíli flicked his hair out of his face, recovering magnificently from almost throwing Fíli off his shoulders. “Though fair means you two have to be stacked up like we are. Otherwise it’s just cheating.”

 

Thorin meant to shoot a look at Bilbo that said ‘if you don’t mind I won’t mind’, except Bilbo was already reaching to grip his shoulders so as to be able to haul himself up into position. Inwardly shrugging – because outwardly shrugging would unseat Bilbo – Thorin stooped low to compensate for Bilbo’s relative lack of height. It took some moments since they were both middle-aged, and Bilbo had lost one slipper by the end, but eventually Thorin stood straight and tall with Bilbo on his shoulders. After an internal debate on whether it was okay to think about which parts of Bilbo were pressed against him – it wasn’t okay, though it hadn’t stopped his initial appreciation of the pillowy softness of Bilbo’s thighs – Thorin carefully put his hands over Bilbo’s knees.

 

“Wait.” Bilbo tapped the top of his head. “I don’t have anything to throw at them.”

 

He looked down at the snowballs he’d packed, all lying innocently by his feet. Shit. “I suppose you get down and back up again?”

 

“Nuh-uh,” Kíli interjected. “As soon as Bilbo’s feet touch the ground you lose.”

 

Thorin was about to protest but Bilbo tapped him again, interrupting. (Retrospectively a good thing because Kíli probably would have added more ridiculous caveats to this ‘fair’ game.) He didn’t actually say anything when Thorin looked up, just shot him a smirk of an expression Thorin was very familiar with – because while Bilbo had been straitlaced when they’d first met, he hadn’t been for long, despite his claims of Thorin being the instigator of their various exploits.

 

He raised his eyebrows in reply and when Bilbo’s smirk widened into a grin, Thorin tightened his grip and ran.

 

Clearly not expecting this, Fíli and Kíli panicked. The first shot went over Bilbo’s head and Thorin took the second to his shoulder. He didn’t slow, though, barrelling towards Kíli who seemed to have forgotten how to use his legs. There wasn’t any need to do any tackling, even, since all Bilbo had to do was reach out and gently push Fíli.

 

It was comical to watch the windmilling arms and hear the surprise-tinged wailing as both Fíli and Kíli landed in a sizeable snow bank.

 

“Yes!” Bilbo crowed, pumping both fists into the air. “Age and experience!”

 

Kíli let his arms flop to the side. “Fuck’s sake.”

 

“Well that was anticlimactic.” Thorin and Bilbo stood over the fallen Fíli and Kíli, laughter only growing when Fíli just chucked an armful of snow over his brother’s head. “Guess we won.”

 

Spluttering through the snow, Kíli glowered up at them. “You totally cheated!”

 

“Oh, how? By ganging up on me without warning? By targeting Bilbo who had no intention of joining in? By introducing ridiculous rules designed to keep the advantage in your court?”

 

“It’s just a bit of fun, Uncle,” said Fíli, reproachful even as he smushed more snow into Kíli’s dark hair. “We –”

 

“Boys!” Everyone turned to see Dís standing in the door. “It’s your turn to cook dinner today, you’ll have just enough time to do that and change first if you come in now.”

 

Both of them exclaimed simultaneously, “But ‘ _Amad_!”

 

“No, no, you two have caused enough chaos for the week. Leave your Uncles alone, now, and come in.”

 

Luckily for everyone present, Fíli and Kíli obeyed, though they muttered to each other in their secret language all the way inside. Despite her sharp tone there was nothing but fondness in Dís eyes as she waited for them, and she waved at him and Bilbo before shutting the door.

 

“Oh,” said Bilbo, “I think that’s Fíli’s phone?”

 

Thorin glanced down and indeed that was the red monstrosity his nephew called a phone laying innocently in the snow. If he recalled correctly it was waterproof, but best not tempt fate. A replacement would be stupidly expensive what with ‘holiday prices’, and with this in mind Thorin bent over to pick it up… quite forgetting that Bilbo was still on his shoulders.

 

In the resulting scramble to grab at Bilbo before he fell and Bilbo’s own grabbing at him, they both rolled into the snow bank Fíli and Kíli had recently vacated, Bilbo ending up sprawled over Thorin.

 

“Shit!” There was no way to pull away to give Bilbo space, so instead Thorin just asked, “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, I completely forgot you were –”

 

Laughter interrupted him. Thorin could only stare as Bilbo completely lost it, eyes closed and head thrown back in his mirth. “You are,” he gasped between giggles, “a complete numpty, you know that?”

 

There was no force on Middle-Earth to stop Thorin’s chuckles; Bilbo’s happy laughter was contagious. “You travelled hundreds of miles to visit this numpty, don’t forget. That’s got to count against you.”

 

“Means I have bad taste, obviously.” He’d mostly regained control, though his eyes were still shining and his cheeks were tinged pink. His honey brown curls were mussed and the collar of his undershirt was askew. He looked _lovely_.

 

Mahal, but Thorin was a coward. He was in love with Bilbo, had been for years, and the only thing holding him back from admitting it was fear. Granted, it was valid one; losing Bilbo’s friendship would definitely hit Thorin hard. He’d almost cocked it up when they were in university but for Bilbo’s tactfully never mentioning ‘the incident’ ever again. His silence had been confirmation that there were no deeper feelings on his end. Thorin doubted that had changed.

 

Which was why he was very confused when Bilbo’s soft and unsure expression was suddenly closer – he was definitely leaning down, and there was no mistaking how his gaze flicked to Thorin’s mouth. For all intents and purposes he looked like he was going to kiss him, but that was ridiculous impossible Thorin was definitely hallucinating that Bilbo’s eyes were fluttering closed as he closed the distance between them and –

 

“Hey!”

 

Thorin turned so fast his neck cricked. Frerin stood on the porch with his arms akimbo.

 

“Stop canoodling and get back in before you both catch a cold!” he called.

 

Unfreezing, Bilbo went from lying down on his front to being on his feet in two seconds flat. Kind of impressive, actually, considering his usual slothfulness.

 

“Saved by the bell, huh?” Thorin said, accepting the proffered hand. He’d realised Bilbo probably detested the idea of kissing him. He must have heard or seen that they had an audience and strategically attempted a kiss – a perfect scenario, to be honest, out in the snow after accidentally falling, prime romcom material – and then was just lucky that Frerin interrupted them before anything actually happened.

 

“Saved by the brother, you mean,” Bilbo said, smiling, though it didn’t quite reach his hazel eyes. He was still pink around the edges.

 

Frerin grinned as they approached. “Had fun?”

 

“As much as cold hands and spilled coffee can be fun,” Bilbo replied, plucking the mug off the floor. He squeezed past Frerin. “Excuse me, I need to change my clothes, they’re all wet.”

 

When the grin grew wider and was directed at him, Thorin rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want a faceful of snow I’d suggest keeping quiet.”

 

“As a mouse, dear brother.” He winked and patted Thorin’s arm. “As a mouse.”


	6. Bilbo

After a few days in Erebor, Bilbo was able to fall asleep at night, though he hadn’t yet mastered waking up at a reasonable time. This time he woke up at quarter past four – better than the 3am of last night which had warranted a midday coffee, but still pretty annoying. He wished his internal clock would hurry up and settle down; it was 80% likely that his slips in judgement lately were due to lack of sleep.

 

Prime example was his almost kissing Thorin out in the snow.

 

He and Thorin had agreed, no need for PDA and kissing only when necessary. If pressed, Bilbo would say that he’d somehow known Frerin was there and the almost-kiss was for his benefit. The truth was simpler; Thorin had looked enchanting, pale eyes dark skin and darker hair against white snow, and Bilbo had just wanted to kiss him so much the impulse bypassed his brain completely. Without Frerin’s interruption things would have been awkward.

 

Well. More awkward. He hadn’t missed how shocked Thorin had been, though the Dwarf had schooled his expression quite quickly.

 

Now it was lax in his repose, lacking even the usual scowly brow of Thorin’s ‘resting face’ as Bilbo observed inches away. He’d been relieved to find out after the first night that both of them kept to their own sides of the bed, despite usually claiming the whole of their respective beds as their ‘side’. Migrating across the mattress and pressing up against Thorin – or Thorin doing that to him – would not have been ideal.

 

Bilbo was also grateful that Thorin’s snoring was not pervasive; it was even absent if he was on his side like he was now. His mouth was open a little though, producing a soft whistle on every other breath. It was a surprisingly restful sound. Not enough to have him dozing off, but Bilbo relaxed a little more into his pillow. He let his eyes wander over Thorin, taking in all the ways he’d changed since their first meeting.

 

Overall he’d gained a little softness as he’d grown older but he was still as strong as he’d been. (He was certainly plenty solid when Bilbo had laid on top of him.) From their chats over the years Bilbo knew that Thorin took the time to work out; he’d always been disciplined and the routine gave him comfort, he said, and Bilbo supposed one would need to keep up one’s strength if they were to run around brandishing period-accurate axes.

 

There was more silver in his hair now, as well. They were mostly at his temples and when the long strands caught the light it made Thorin looked very dignified. Bilbo found that he liked it best when some silver ended up in whatever braids Thorin put his hair in.

 

Thorin’s shorter beard also helped with the whole distinguished air he had going for him. When they were studying he’d kept it long enough that he’d been able to braid it, but all Bilbo really remembered was being frustrated because Thorin rarely would do so. He’d always despaired that it was all over the place and made him look like a vagrant. Thorin’s reply to this complaining was to boast that he’d one day have a beard long enough to tuck into his belt. Bilbo could only thank the heavens that he’d apparently changed his mind.

 

Of course the most noticeable difference between now-Thorin and first-day-of-uni-Thorin was the scar. It started at the right corner of his forehead and diagonally through his eyebrow, narrowly missing his eye. That’d happened near the end of final year and one of Bilbo’s clearest memories was of studying for some test while by Thorin’s side in the hospital.

 

He’d sustained many more injuries but the cut on his face had panicked Bilbo the most when he’d arrived at the scene. He’d stripped off his jacket and used it to put pressure on the stab wound on Thorin’s chest – which had luckily missed everything but one lung – and used his handkerchief to keep the blood out of Thorin’s eyes but everything had just been red and Thorin had been spouting nonsense about putting Bilbo in peril and –

 

Bilbo closed his eyes and let his breath shudder out of him. He’d not intended to visit those particular memories. If he ever had nightmares they were of that time, so it wasn’t like he could forget – and the nightmares were worse than the real thing, because his mind insisted on tricking him, crafting scenarios where Thorin was already dead when he arrived or where he bled out while Bilbo could do nothing.

 

But those weren’t real. Thorin was alive. Bilbo opened his eyes, the tightness in his chest loosening a little as he watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. He reached out without thinking, brushing his fingers along the pale line, reassured that it was long healed.

 

Thorin murmured a little in his sleep and Bilbo snatched his hand back. He feigned unconsciousness for a few moments just in case Thorin woke up and wondered why he was being stared at, but since his even breaths merely continued uninterrupted, Bilbo figured it was safe to reopen his eyes.

 

Now there was a bit of a smile on Thorin’s face and Bilbo resisted the urge to touch those pale lips as well. The first time they’d met Bilbo had thought Thorin stern and dour and quick to frown – and while those things could be true, as they grew closer he learned that the Dwarf could also be witty and mischievous. And he had a smile like sunrise cresting a hill that Bilbo was often treated to.

 

Thorin’s first impression of him hadn’t been particularly flattering; the words ‘grocer’ and ‘entitled brat’ sprang to mind. But Bilbo couldn’t really blame Thorin. He’d been in his early thirties, already set in his ways, and university had been his first real adventure in an otherwise quiet life in the Shire. He’d changed and grown, and so had Thorin.

 

He was glad they’d never lost touch. His life would definitely be less exciting (though he’d rather Thorin not be arrested again) and though Bilbo sometimes ached for something more that wouldn’t happen, he and Thorin were as close as two friends could ever hope to be. He could never regret that.

 

Thorin shifted and some of his hair slid across his face. His nose wrinkled but he did not wake. Taking pity on him – and stifling laughter – Bilbo carefully tucked the errant strands behind his ear. A yawn came over him and he settled back into bed and closed his eyes. He drifted off into sleep, hand curled into the sheets by Thorin’s own.

 

* * *

 

“Thorin.”

 

“Dís.”

 

“You should take Bilbo out.”

 

At the mention of his name, Bilbo looked up from the book he’d been reading. Dís had her eyebrow raised at Thorin, who was beside Bilbo. (Usually Bilbo would have preferred to read in a quiet corner by himself but considering the circumstances he’d chosen the loveseat. Luckily Thorin had taken the hint and sat with him.)

 

“I took him to the mall,” Thorin said.

 

This had Dís rolling her eyes, and Bilbo was tempted to do so as well. “And a mall is indicative of everything Erebor has to offer is it?”

 

Frerin suddenly appeared behind their seat. “How about the Arkenstone?”

 

Thorin's face was a moue of disgust. “That’s very touristy.”

 

“I am a tourist,” Bilbo pointed out. “Therefore anything I do will be touristy.”

 

“Yeah but I don’t want to show you a tourist _trap_.”

 

“No, you were just going to show him the inside of your house,” Dís commented dryly.

 

“Don’t forget the mall trip,” Víli mumbled without opening his eyes. He was sprawled along the sofa with his head in Dís’ lap. “House and mall.”

 

“I’d rather take you to somewhere like the Quartz Bridge, or Moonstone Cove.” Thorin was apparently ignoring his siblings and sibling-in-law, directing this to Bilbo. “Somewhere special.”

 

Bilbo hoped his thudding heart was not audible to anyone else.

 

Dís smoothed down her beard. “Moonstone Cove might need a little more planning, since it’s a three hour drive, but we could do Quartz Bridge today.”

 

“We?” Thorin’s glare was spoiled a little when Frerin flicked his ear. “Ow, hey!”

 

“Obviously we’re coming along. It’s our holiday too.” He turned his grin in Bilbo’s direction. “We’re not going to intrude on your date, not to worry. Well I won’t, I can’t speak for the rest of the family, especially my nephews.”

 

“Oh, they’re quite wary of Bilbo after the snowball fight they lost.” She snickered. “I think it’ll take at least a half hour for everyone to get ready so… we’ll leave at three?”

 

Thorin sighed. “Very well.” He grimaced at Bilbo. “I hope you packed a waterproof jacket.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo hadn’t, so he was in another borrowed jacket, this time Fíli’s which fit him better than Thorin’s had. He didn’t enjoy it as much since it lacked Thorin’s warmth and scent but it did its job well and kept him reasonably dry from the waterfall spray.

 

Apparently the Quartz Bridge was in the middle of what used to be a gold mine, spanning the narrowest part of a lake that was fed by an enormous waterfall. The bridge got its name from the stones set into it, as Thorin explained.

 

“Okay so the yellowy ones are citrine. Clear pink is morganite while the more cloudy one is rose quartz. The orange-red is carnelian. You see the opaque ones? The black is onyx and the brown is jasper.”

 

“And the purple is amethyst, right?”

 

“Yup, that’s right.” To be heard over the roaring sound – as the waterfall was too large and the temperature not cold enough for it to freeze solid – Thorin was leaning down close to Bilbo’s ear. To make this less awkward, and to sell their ‘dating’ facade, Thorin also had his arm around his shoulders. “They were all formed here.”

 

He frowned. “I thought you said this was a gold mine.”

 

“Quartz can occur in ore mineral mines like gold or silver. Copper too, I think.” The dampness of the air had Thorin’s hair curling; he pushed some out of his face. “Do you like the bridge?”

 

“It’s beautiful.” It looked like it was made of the same stone as the walls, and there were enough electric light sources around to catch the semiprecious stones Thorin had been pointing out. “Everything in here is beautiful.” A few plants wouldn’t have gone amiss, but Bilbo knew enough to realise most wouldn’t have appeared in this cave naturally. He also wished it was a little warmer, but that was easily solved by burrowing closer into Thorin’s side.

 

“Are you cold?”

 

“It _is_ cold in here.”

 

“That might be because of the waterfall,” Thorin said, “but the temperature inside caves is pretty constant. All those layers of insulating rock separating it from the outside.”

 

“Do all Dwarves learn about mining and caves when young?”

 

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Just as all Hobbitlings are taught gardening.”

 

“So that’s a yes, right?”

 

This was met with a laugh, even though Bilbo was being serious, and Thorin encouraged him to start walking across the bridge. The stones were cool underfoot, worn smooth by years of being walked on. There weren’t very many people about – Kíli and Fíli were skipping stones, Dís and Víli had already crossed the bridge, and Frerin was likely still having a smoke outside – and so they were able to take their time as they walked.

 

“Do you have anything like this in the Shire?” Thorin asked, waving his hand expansively at the cave.

 

“Not that I’m aware of. There might be some parts of the country I haven’t yet explored in my walking holidays.” The heavy arm draped on his shoulders prevented his shrug. “But I doubt it. The Shire’s a place of rolling hills and valleys, we don’t really have massive mountains to house a cave of this magnitude.”

 

“What about lakes, then?”

 

Bilbo thought about it. “There’s Bywater Pool? It doesn’t really compare. Even if we had a lake like this we wouldn’t build a bridge across it.”

 

“Why not?

 

“Hobbits don’t really like water, so we’re not going to suspend ourselves over a large body of water when skirting around it is an option. We… admire from the banks.”

 

Thorin stopped. “Should we turn back?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well isn’t the lake bothering you? I wouldn’t want to prolong the experience.”

 

A smile crossed his face as he marvelled at how sweet Thorin could be. “Eh I’m fine, the bridge is plenty wide.” When he continued to look unsure, Bilbo tried a different tack. “You’ve got a good hold of me anyway. I’m comforted in the knowledge that if I fall I’m taking you with me.”

 

“Funny,” Thorin said dryly, though he started walking again. “Hey, didn’t you tell me that you had cousins that were swimming champions?”

 

“Just the one cousin, Primula, but well remembered!”

 

“How come she’s fine with swimming?”

 

“Oh, she discovered it during a family trip to Lhûn. According to my aunt she ran straight into the ocean when they were supposed to be collecting shells. Scared the curls off everyone.” If Bilbo had been there he’d have been terrified too, and despite his wariness he’d probably have run in after her.

 

“Obviously there was a happy ending to this story, but that’s still very dangerous. What happened next?”

 

“Well they’d chosen the beach because it was quieter than others in the area. Luckily there happened to be another family holidaying there, some Dwarves with their own children, and they caught her before she swam too far out.” His smile widened when he felt the tension bleed out of Thorin. “The Dwarf then offered to teach Primula how to properly swim. I think his name might’ve been Bombur?”

 

“I actually know a –”

 

“Finally!” Víli exclaimed, disrupting the conversation. “We were just debating if you’d fallen into the lake.”

 

“If there were no railings, like all the Dwarven-made bridges of old, then that might have been true,” Bilbo teased back. He’d initially been intimidated by Thorin’s family, but everyone was very welcoming of him even though he was a veritable stranger. He had to wonder how much of that was due to his being Thorin’s (apparent) boyfriend, but that seemed unfair to even consider. They were good people and he oughtn’t second guess them.

 

“Here,” Dís said, pushing her phone into Thorin’s hands. “Wanted you to take a photo of us. Then we can take some of you.”

 

“Photo?”

 

“Yes, Thorin. Photographs. You know you can take them with phones now, right?”

 

He scowled at his sister. “I’ve half a mind to half-cover the lens with my thumb.”

 

“You do that and I’ll smack you,” Dís threw over her shoulder, going to stand by Víli by the water’s edge.

 

It _was_ a good spot for a photo, Bilbo realised. You could see the entirety of the waterfall and lake, and most of the bridge. At the right height and angle you could also probably make it look like the water was gushing from your mouth, if you were so inclined. Víli and Dís were not, instead taking normal couple photos; standing beside each other, arms around waists, kissing. They were a sweet couple and Bilbo thought they suited each other well.

 

“Okay, your turn,” Víli said cheerfully, beckoning Bilbo forward.

 

“Wait,” Dís said, tugging on Thorin’s hoodie. “Let me get one of just Bilbo; that way he’ll have some holiday photos without your fat nose in it.”

 

“My nose isn’t fat!”

 

“That’s what you think.” Dís peered at her phone for a moment. “Bilbo could you take two steps to your right? Yup, right there.”

 

He was a little worried that he’d accidentally fall back into the lake – there was no railing here – and felt a little awkward waiting to have his photo taken. Catching sight of Thorin woundedly rubbing the bridge of his nose made him smile, though, and soon Dís was chivvying Thorin towards him.

 

“Stand on his other side, Thorin,” Víli directed. “Otherwise you’re blocking the falls.”

 

“How about I stand behind him? You’ll still be able to see me.”

 

Bilbo elbowed him. “Arse.”

 

“It’s not my fault you’re so short,” Thorin said, snickering.

 

“I’m at a perfectly acceptable height as a Hobbit.” In fact he was taller than the average, since he was just over four feet. “You’re the tall freak.”

 

Thorin replied very maturely by sticking his tongue out.

 

Dís’ phone shutter went off and she cackled. “Got that on camera! Okay, now a normal one, please.” She waited for them to comply, and the shutter went off again a couple of times. “Now kiss.”

 

Bilbo and Thorin shared a brief, horrified look. Thorin was the one who spoke first, “Not everyone needs to PDA all over the place, sister.”

 

Víli started chortling at this, but Dís remained firm. “There’s hardly anyone here, and I’m just taking one photo. Honestly, Thorin, you’ve got to loosen up a bit. I thought having a boyfriend would have you less of a stuffed shirt.”

 

“I am not a –” He abruptly broke off as Bilbo grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him down into a kiss.

 

It wasn’t quite like Bilbo remembered – but he’d revisited that memory so many times it’d probably warped from the original moment. This was gentler and less hungry, chaste. They weren’t alone, after all, but Bilbo wanted nothing more in that moment than to lose himself to the press of Thorin’s thin lips. Thorin’s arm was warm around him and his beard was bristly – a welcome change from the scraggly nightmare in uni – and he seemed to be holding his breath. Bilbo was breathless for a different reason and his brow furrowed in his effort not to part his lips and take what Thorin wasn’t prepared to give.

 

“You guys know I’ve already taken the photo ages ago, right?” Dís asked.

 

Both of them sprang apart, Bilbo looking away quickly. He’d rather face Dís’ and Víli’s sly expressions than the disgust that was probably on Thorin’s face. He hoped he wasn’t blushing too obviously. “Are we off?”

 

“Yes. We could go further in, the cave system goes quite a ways,” Víli explained, pointing. “But we’ve been away from the lads for long enough. They might be extorting tourists as we speak.”

 

Jumping on this change of subject Bilbo asked, “Do they often do that?”

 

“Well, it only happened the once, but that’s one too many. It was two years ago when we went for a family trip to the Iron Hills. Dís and I wanted to go up to Dagger Point, but Fíli and Kíli claimed to be tired, so we went up without them. By the time we’d got back down from the lookout point, they’d convinced a tour group that they were royal.”

 

“How did they manage that?” he asked, half laughing.

 

“Let’s start walking back, I’ll tell you on the way. I’d like to preface the story with the fact that the Iron Hills have not had any sort of royalty in decades...”

 

Bilbo fell into step beside Víli with only a small smile directed at Thorin – though he still didn’t meet his eyes –, doing his best to listen to the story being told and trying very hard to resist touching his still-tingling lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Quartz bridge, along with the lake and cave, are taken directly from another story [_A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2788958/chapters/6259208) which is a story about Bilbo being turned into a dwarf a-la Cinderella and attending a party in Erebor.


	7. Thorin

Two days later and Thorin was still thinking about the kiss.

 

More specifically he was thinking about Bilbo’s lips, somehow softer and more lush than he remembered, gently firm against his. He kept imagining what it would’ve been like if he’d been brave enough to taste, as alcohol-induced-braveness had allowed him to do in university, but that would have been inappropriate anyway. But if it hadn’t been, if they’d been alone, if this hadn’t been an elaborate lie then Thorin would have put both arms around Bilbo properly to hold him close. He’d bend down of his own volition, watch Bilbo’s eyes flutter closed and admire the fan of his lashes against his cheeks, then slowly seal the distance between them. He’d start with chaste and kiss Bilbo until they were both breathless, then press forward further and –

 

...and this was a bad idea.

 

Thorin sighed, shaking his head before getting up to peer at the pie in the oven. Still not ready. He returned to leaning against the counter and went back to staring unseeingly at his mother’s cookbook.

 

This all could have been avoided if he’d had a bit of backbone. While Bilbo had yanked him down, Thorin was more than capable of holding firm – in both senses of the phrase – but he’d given in and allowed himself to be pulled down and into the kiss. His protests had been for show and he’d confess no small amount of relief when Bilbo had resolved the issue.

 

It was official: he was the biggest coward in Middle-Earth.

 

Not without cause, though. Bilbo may have instigated the kiss – probably to get it over with as quickly as possible – but he certainly hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t even been able to look at Thorin after, instead peppering Víli with questions about his sons’ antics. (That conversation had lasted all the way back home, further incited by Fíli and Kíli who’d seemed all too pleased about the tales being told.)

 

By the time night rolled in things had largely returned to normal, though Thorin had still been hyperaware of Bilbo’s position and actions. But they’d each gone about their nightly ablutions, said goodnight, and went to sleep without incident. It was like nothing had happened.

 

It reminded him of the days after ‘the incident’, and that made him sadder than he had any right to feel.

 

“Why’re you hiding in here?”

 

Thorin blinked as the object of his thoughts (and affections) walked into the kitchen. Bilbo was sipping from a ‘WORLD’S UNCLE’ mug – a gift from a very young Fíli and Kíli – and had on an Arda University jumper. As if Thorin needed any more reminders about times long past.

 

“Keeping an eye on the pie,” he managed to say. “The timer on the oven’s not working. How about you?”

 

He smiled and lifted the mug. “Refill.”

 

“Ah. That’s cool.” As Bilbo went over to the stove where the mulled wine was, Thorin checked the pie. Golden brown in most places with darker brown spots. Done. He turned the oven off and took the pie out to cool on the rack, then pulled off the oven mitts. He dropped them when Bilbo’s arm suddenly slid around his waist. “Wh –”

 

“Calm down. ‘S just me.”

 

“Yes, but…” There was no one here, so the close proximity was just a sweet torture.

 

“Ssh,” Bilbo said and did an odd sort of stretch, like he was trying to stand taller than his actual height. He made a _tch_ sound before muttering, “Why d’you have to be so tall?”

 

Thorin couldn’t come up with a good reply to this incongruous question, and definitely couldn’t think at all when he saw Bilbo sway forward and felt lips against his neck. Bilbo didn’t pull back and instead nuzzled into the skin just above the collar of Thorin’s sweater. He seemed to have abandoned his mug near the stove, so the hand that was now free was stroking Thorin, just, constant and unashamed. It started on the side of his chest over his heart, caressed down inches above the hem, then lifted and repeated the motion.

 

“Bilbo… what exactly are you doing?”

 

“Tried to kiss your cheek, but you’re too high.” He snickered, breath puffing across Thorin’s collarbones. “Too high.”

 

He didn’t share in Bilbo’s amusement. “You do know no one here to see, right?” he asked, keeping his voice low just in case. “You don’t have to –”

 

“Want to. Feels nice.”

 

Ah. He’d probably had one too many servings of the wine. How the tables had turned. “You’ll not feel the same way when you’re sober,” Thorin said, though without meaning to sound quite as bitter as he did. Hopefully it’d go unnoticed.

 

Bilbo scoffed, hand pausing briefly in its maddening strokes. “Please! You’ll still be ridiculously attractive when I’m sober.”

 

He… paused. “What?”

 

“You: ridiculously attractive.” He sighed and patted Thorin. “Me: ridiculously smitten.”

 

Thorin’s frown remained for a moment longer, then abruptly cleared as he realised the problem: alcohol. Bilbo was just being handsy because of drink, and likely just saying things without really thinking. At least Thorin was experienced with dealing with a drunk Hobbit, and so it wasn’t too difficult to convince Bilbo to drink a full glass of water (instead of chugging the mulled wine he’d already poured, like he wanted to). He’d bring a refill in a bit but now he needed to get Bilbo upstairs.

 

“Frerin?”

 

The muted sounds of what was obviously a game abruptly paused. Frerin lowered his tablet. “What’s up?”

 

“I’ve got the pie out of the oven. Could you make sure no one filches it before dinner?”

 

He lifted one blonde eyebrow, gaze seeming to linger on Bilbo who was still patting Thorin. “Where are you off to?”

 

“This one’s had a bit too much of your mulled wine and needs to lie down.”

 

“Sure,” Frerin laughed, and winked, which was all sorts of disturbing. He was probably exchanging notes with Dís, which was even more disturbing. Thorin quickly beat his retreat, herding Bilbo into his room with little trouble.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, helping Bilbo sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m going to get you more water but do you need anything else?”

 

“We need to talk.”

 

“Yeah, sure, but let me get that water first –”

 

“No, Thorin.” Bilbo had reached out and taken hold of Thorin’s wrist; his fingers weren’t quite long enough to properly encircle it. “We’re going to do this now, because if we’re going to do this pretend thing for the rest of the month I need...” He sighed. “Will you sit? The looming is distracting.”

 

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” Despite the protest Thorin settled beside Bilbo. A low, slow anxiety was building under his breastbone. “If this is about what happened in the kitchen, I don’t blame you, you know.”

 

In the low light Bilbo’s eyes looked green. “What do you mean?”

 

His face was hot. “The whole… touching thing. And saying that I was attractive. And that you were smitten.” Such things were bad for his heart, because while he knew they weren’t genuine, the hope otherwise was a jagged, cruel thing. “But you’d just drank too much, is all. Sometimes people say and do weird things when alcohol is involved. Like the time at the Three Trolls with the parasites.” He hoped to change the subject as subtly as he could, keen to avoid further awkwardness.

 

Bilbo wasn’t having it. “Thorin, I’m nowhere near that drunk.”

 

“Everyone says that.”

 

“I managed to get up the stairs with no trouble,” he pointed out. “What does that tell you?”

 

Oh. That was right, a thoroughly sloshed Bilbo wouldn’t have been able to put on foot in front of the other, much less manage a flight of stairs. “Yes but… in the kitchen, that’s not _really_ how you feel.”

 

“I think _I’d_ know how I really feel,” Bilbo said sharply.

 

He lifted his hands in surrender, leaning away a little. “I mean no insult, Bilbo, but you’ve always considered me nothing more than a friend.”

 

The annoyance seemed to drain from Bilbo. His cheeks had darkened – but Thorin assumed that was because of the lingering affects of too much wine. “That’s… not strictly true.”

 

“...what?”

 

“You probably don’t want to hear this, but I’ve gone and made myself look like a fool already, so I might as well jump in with both feet on this.” He turned a little to completely face Thorin, looking him square in the eye. “I’m in love with you, Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

This was a dream. It had to be. It just didn’t seem likely that Bilbo was sitting here and admitting that he had feelings for Thorin. But would he feel like the world was falling away from him if it was? “How long?” he managed to croak.

 

Bilbo’s laugh was rueful and bitter. “Years. Decades.” He finally looked away. “Since university.”

 

Thorin put his head in his hands. How – how had he missed it? Bilbo had been very successful in hiding his true feelings… but Thorin supposed he couldn’t really talk. Going by the way Bilbo was behaving, he obviously had no idea Thorin felt the same way. Mahal, they were the biggest idiots –

 

“Is the idea of me loving you that abhorrent?” Bilbo sounded soft and sad, and Thorin regretted making him doubt like that.

 

“No, I – that’s not it at all.” Anguish and hope warred within him, making it hard for him to lift his head, but Bilbo more than anyone else in the world deserved the truth. “We’ve just wasted so much time.”

 

It didn’t take long for Bilbo to catch the meaning there; his eyes widened and they were hopeful, shining, beautiful. _He_ was beautiful. “So you…”

 

“Yeah. Also since uni.” Thorin couldn’t help but match Bilbo’s smile, though he recognised the ruefulness in his eyes as it was echoed in his own heart. “That’s why my family was so excited about you. I’ve never had anyone for them to meet.”

 

Bilbo reached out and took Thorin’s hand. Slotting their fingers together felt right. Perfect, even, since it was no longer overshadowed by the diminishing duration of their fake relationship. Bilbo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he said, “Funny how it took us pretending to be together for it to happen for real.”

 

He bit his lip, ever-familiar uncertainty sinking its claws into his belly. “You _do_ want us to be together for real, right?”

 

The stare levelled at him could have turned an army into stone. “No. Why would I ever want to be with the Dwarf I’ve been in love with for years after he’s told me he loves me back?”

 

“Ouch, mind the sarcasm.” He thumbed the corner of Bilbo’s scowl where it was valiantly fighting a smile. “I haven’t said it yet, though.”

 

“What?”

 

“That I love you.”

 

Bilbo pushed a braid behind his ear. “So say it.”

 

“I love you.” Their faces were so close now. His eyelids wanted to slip closed but he’d much rather stare at Bilbo, slightly unfocused as he was. Their noses brushed. “I love you, Bilbo. With all my heart, for as long as I can remember and for as long as you’ll have me. I love you.”

 

“Hmm.” Bilbo’s hand in his was warm and grounding. “I could stand to hear that a few more times.”

 

“The rest of our lives,” Thorin promised, uncaring of how ridiculous he sounded because their lips _finally_ met and he was kissing Bilbo. Not because of alcohol, not because they’d been asked to, but because they both wanted to. Because they were both in love.

 

Their lips were already parted when they kissed and it didn’t take much for Thorin, emboldened by mutual confessions, to lick into Bilbo’s mouth. He tasted like anise and cinnamon and the heavy tang of red wine, though Thorin could only concentrate on this for the briefest moment before Bilbo’s tongue curled against his and obliterated most all thought. Bilbo had released his hand and instead gently held Thorin’s head in place as he advanced further and further, each brush of his lips stealing Thorin’s breath and causing his toes to curl. This seemed to last forever and a day, yet he felt he would never tire of the way Bilbo’s lips were both soft and firm, of the pleased noises he was making.

 

When Bilbo put one hand in the centre of his chest and pushed, Thorin willingly fell back onto the bed.

 

 

He rather thought that now Bilbo wouldn't mind if he went to sleep in the nude.


	8. Epilogue

“You know,” Thorin said, some minutes after things had come to a happy and messy end, “it’s very unfair.”

 

Though they really ought to be getting cleaned up and dressed so they could return downstairs, Bilbo took the bait. He needed to catch his breath anyhow. “What’s unfair?”

 

“Well when you get drunk things work out pretty well. When I do it, things backfire.”

 

“What’re you talking about? You hardly drink, and I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a drop since I arrived.”

 

“Not that.” He sounded pained. “Thranduil’s party.”

 

Oh. _Oh_. Bilbo sat up, jarring Thorin’s hand off his chest and likely startling him, but he needed to clarify. Everything. “I… you still remember that?”

 

“Yes?” He looked a bit confused, though Bilbo found it a bit distracting even looking at him because his gaze couldn’t help but wander downwards to Thorin’s naked chest that was generously covered in dark curls – and he’d been a happy Hobbit once he realised there was silver in that hair too – and perhaps he should get back on track. Ahem. “Yeah, I do remember.”

 

Bilbo, for the second time today, felt his paradigms shatter. A large part of how his life had gone had hinged on his assumption – his apparently wrong assumption – that Thorin didn’t remember what had happened and that Thorin’s action had been fuelled by drink alone. “I thought you’d drank too much and forgotten, that’s why I never brought it up again.”

 

Thorin blinked up at him once, twice. “That was pretty much Elven courage; I drank enough to silence the thoughts telling me that kissing you was a bad idea.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Wait, you drank as much as I did!”

 

“Uh, you’re talking to a Hobbit?” He laughed, settling on his belly with his elbows under him. “Have you forgotten that weekend in Laketown?”

 

“Mahal, don’t bring that up. Barrels and apples and all those fucking _fish_...”

 

Still chuckling, Bilbo reached over and brushed the tips of his fingers over Thorin’s scar, just because he could.

 

Thorin caught his hand and held it to the side of his face. “So all this while you thought…?”

 

“I thought the alcohol not only made you kiss the nearest person, which just happened to be me,” – he remembered that, trying to get Thorin out of the party only to find himself pressed up against the wall outside and kissed thoroughly. Which, you know, he appreciated and responded to but ultimately convinced himself was not genuine – “but made _you_ forget what’d happened. You never mentioned it again so I assumed I was right.”

 

“I never mentioned it again because I thought you were too kind to reject me outright.”

 

Bilbo hid his face in Thorin’s shoulder. (Warm, naked shoulder.) “Wow, we’re idiots.”

 

“Apparently so. But we managed to find our way, in the end.” He placed a bristly kiss in the middle of Bilbo’s palm. “And we should probably find our way back downstairs before everyone starts wondering where we are.”

 

“Noooo...”

 

“C’mon, lazy. Time to clean up and get dressed.”

 

“I’d much rather stay in bed.”

 

“It’s only five in the evening. Dís and Co. will be back soon. And there’s still dinner to be had, with pie for afters.”

 

Bilbo perked up immediately. “I forgot about the pie!”

 

“Dessert is the best way to gain your attention, I see.”

 

“It is an essential part of any main meal.” Smirking slightly, Bilbo leaned in close and whispered, “And later, after everyone else has gone to sleep, we can have dessert in bed.”

 

Thorin’s blush was priceless.

 

* * *

 

When they finally made their way downstairs, it was to find everyone seated all around the living room, each with a generous slice of pie. So generous that Bilbo was genuinely worried that there was no more left.

 

Before he could open his mouth to ask after said pie, Dís interrupted him. “You two look very relaxed.” She didn’t wait for an answer, instead turning to Frerin. “Did they…?”

 

“Yeah,” answered Frerin, who was wearing a shit-eating grin. “They totally boned.”

 

This was met with an outcry of dismay – from Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin – but Bilbo was so embarrassed that he couldn’t speak. His face felt hot enough that it was nearly on fire, but the torture wasn’t over yet.

 

“Oh, finally,” Dís said, as if commenting about something banal and entirely unrelated to Thorin’ and Bilbo’s sex life. “Now we can get back to normality.”

 

“You both owe me.”

 

Now, despite the short time he'd known them, Bilbo would have assumed this had been said by either of Thorin's siblings - but it was not to be. He and Thorin goggled at the unassuming Víli. Thorin was the first to speak. “You guys took bets on whether or not we’d…” He trailed off, eyes darting towards his nephews. “Sleep together?”

 

“No,” Víli said, taking a small bite of pie and then accepting the fifty dollar notes Dís pushed into his hand and Frerin pelted at his head. “We took bets on _when_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song _So Close_ by Jon McLaughlin. Popped up in my angst playlist and I thought, hmm, relevant.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! The fade-to-black smut scene will be fleshed out (hehe) later on, in a sequel. I just thought this was too long as it is, and those who don't enjoy reading smut can easily opt out.
> 
> Please do tell me what you thought!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [So Close](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495018) by [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues)




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